


Golden Age

by orphan_account



Category: K-pop, Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Dystopian society, M/M, Science Fiction, down with the government ! au, skz said fuck capitalism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-19
Packaged: 2020-05-15 02:23:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19286176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Two divisions, nine rebels, one country. One wretched country.Wherein nine boys come together with one shared hope for themselves, and one another. One shared dream for the world they live in. With a supposed completely equal nation, even despite the separate Divisions, everyone is handicapped in order to achieve complete and total equality. The beautiful are masked; the strong carry weights upon their backs; and the intelligent are played distracting noises every hour of the day, every day of the week.All from different backgrounds, these nine boys may be the nation's final hope for the reality they and everyone around them truly wish for: a truly golden age.





	1. chapter one

**Author's Note:**

> hi there ! welcome to my first ever stray kids fanfiction :)
> 
> i'm so excited to be writing this!
> 
> just a big disclaimer, this story was loosely inspired by the short story "harrison bergeron" by kurt vonnegut. 
> 
> also, this story will contain graphic violence along with death, which may be triggering to some readers. please be safe :)

It had been more than two weeks since the fire, but the stink of it was still in his hair, on his skin. He took long showers twice a day, but the smell lingered. So did the images of civilians running for their lives down the streets, the vibrant flames wafting up higher and stronger as the wind moved through them. The sounds of screams rang through his head, along with the wailing sirens. He couldn't help anyone. No one could.

Division Two was a place no one wanted to be—city riots were a normal occurrence and the violence never seemed to stop. On days like today, though, the streets were empty, and the concrete on the ground seemed to reek of turmoil and chaos.

Felix changed into his clean uniform which consisted of a white t-shirt, black blazer, and khakis that had to have been at least two sizes too big for his waist. He had gotten used to the shirt going just above his knees, but he could tuck it in if he were alone. That was the least of the problems regarding the passage of the 212th amendment—everyone looking the same. Everyone wearing the same clothes, those clothes all being the same size. No one was their own person anymore. The only thing differentiating each civilian was the name tag everyone wore on their left breast pocket, Felix's stating  _ "YONGBUK 0915." _

Stepping down from the front step, Felix entered the ghastly streets and made his way towards the bus station. He made sure to get there at least thirty minutes before the stated departure, for he always needed the most comfortable seat, which was all the way at the front of the bus. The seat had no windows and was isolated from the most hectic parts of the vehicle, where most other kids his age would sit.

The sky was plain. No clouds, no sun. Nothing really new there.

Felix turned the corner to the right. The path stretched out into the main square of the town, which was now completely defaced. The once opal-white statue was now broken—it once displayed a distinctly-sculpted mask that all the beautiful people wear, the headphones the intelligent use, and wrapped around them were the metal chains to represent the strong. In front of the sculpture was a large marble plaque that had the words  _ "CLÉ VOIE, GOLDEN AGE — EQUALITY" _ embossed into the material. Felix hated how it made their reality seem so glorious, when truly, the ringing and static he had to hear all day put him in agony.

The buildings in the main square were rotting by the brick. He could see in the near distance the area where those civilians were set on fire. He could still smell the kerosene from miles away. Felix looked down at his feet, which were covered by the only pair of shoes he had. They were a plain brown and were slick and shiny like crystals. His dad must have shined them before he left that morning.

Looking back towards the wreck, Felix felt a pang in his chest. He remembered coming home last week and hearing all the names of those who died in the riot being spoken on the news. Not only that, but the news anchors made sure to spread the name of the agitator. All Felix seemed to see on the headlines was _SPEAR.B, SPEAR.B, SPEAR.B. SERIAL 0811._ _CAPTURED_. It was almost as annoying as the ringing his headset played on loop.

Felix arrived at the train station just in time—there were only a couple of students waiting for the shuttle to arrive. Felix was the only one of them wearing a headset. One boy had chains, and he looked as though he were in agony. The sight made Felix feel sorry. The boy struggled to keep his head up, which wore a mask over his face as well. Felix made sure not to stare too long, though. He didn't want to seem suspicious.

The other commuters lined up as soon as the bus arrived in the station. Felix tapped his thumb against the side of his pant-leg while he waited for the doors to open. As soon as the sound of the vehicle settling into the concrete was made and a puff of gas released from the caboose, Felix made his way inside the shuttle. There was small chatter from the others behind him, but he ignored it, he didn't interact. He just found his small spot at the opposite end of the bus and tuned them out.

The bus left the station and zoomed down the street as fast as it could go. The old buildings and worn homes blurred past as they got closer to the exam hall. Felix didn't want to go through another day of pointless testing. His ears hurt, along with practically his whole being—he knew that they knew he wasn't strong and wasn't beautiful. Not to most people, anyway. By testing him in such ways, they just made him weaker.

A sigh escaped his lips as people began to exit the bus. Felix trekked slowly towards the main doors to the building. It stood tall, at least twenty floors. The outside looked somewhat defaced. The attempts to cover up spray-painted messages put on the walls of the building during some of the city's worst riots made the place look tacky and patchy.

Once Felix reached the inside of the building, he gave the security his wrist, showing his serial code. They quickly scanned the barcode tattooed into his skin, and as soon as the light on the scanner turned green, he continued on. He entered the elevator alongside a few other boys.

"Spear.B was my neighbor," Felix heard through his headset one of them say. "It was only a matter of time before he exploded. He's been chained since birth, practically."

"It's only a matter of time before we all explode," another retorted under his breath. Felix swallowed hard at their comments. He didn't disagree—Felix would love to go a day without the painful noises. He'd love to hear the birds chirping each morning. He'd love to hear the whirring of the coffee pot in the kitchen every morning.

The elevator ringed upon arrival of the seventh floor. Everyone with headsets exited the box, Felix included. He walked to the third room down the main corridor which had his serial number listed on the board posted on the door.

Inside was the same sight as every other day—tan walls, wooden desk table, metal folding chair. Felix sat down in the middle of the room and picked up the pencil sitting on the countertop.

A loud pitch rang through the headset before he could even write his name and serial. The noise was more painful than usual—it caused his head to start to ache. He threw down the pencil, rubbing his eyes to alleviate the pain.

After a few moments, Felix began writing again. He wrote his name,  _ Yongbuk _ . Then bubbled in his serial number. 0915. Checked off the box that read plugged.

  
  


  1. Name the first amendment to the Constitution.



_ freedum ov speach, ruhlijun, press, ahsemblee, and patition. _

 

  1. You have 20 apples in a basket. You eat three. How many are left?



_ 7 _

 

  1. You sell those three apples for $5 each. How much money do you obtain?



_ $8 _

  
  
  


He turned the page. The paper displayed a slew of different shapes—triangles, circles, squares, kites. The paper read, how many squares are there on the paper?

Felix exhaled deeply. Swallowing hard, he put his pencil on the paper, trying to count the number of squares on the page. The white noise got louder. And louder. And louder. He started over.

_ One. Two. Three. _

A loud ring.

_ No, one. Two. Three. Five. _

Static.

_ Goddammit! _

Felix threw down a random number on the paper, calling it a day. He already knew he would be wrong no matter how hard he tried.

He put his test booklet into the file holder by the door and exited the room, moving on to the next examination, which was on the next floor.

This floor was more busy that that below him. Division Two, as wretched as it was, had been home to some especially athletic people. Especially considering the amount of rebels who fought and protested against the corrupt society they had to live in—not only did they have the mental power, but physical strength.

Felix recalled how the leader of the last riot, Spear.B, was chained since birth. It was no coincidence he was now locked up.

Several onlookers peeked through the tiny windows going into the gym to watch the examination. There were boys of all shapes and sizes inside, all simultaneously lifting large barbells over their heads—or at least trying. Felix hated this part of the examination the most, for it was the prime opportunity for all the strong people to take off their chains and show their strength. Truthfully, Felix never understood why the chained had to be chained—they would still be strong. In fact, he really didn't understand any of it. The masked were still beautiful underneath. The plugged still had the same brain they were born with. It was all so pointless to him. He hated it.

The group that was in the examination gym began to exit out the other doors, and that's when the doors Felix stood in front of slid open for the next group to file in. Felix contemplated waiting for the next round, but ended up getting lost in the crowd of people. He was stuck.

The group lined up single file, each person leading up to the examination proctor for the day. There were three obstacles—climb the rope, climb the wall, then barbell lifting. You get forty-five seconds to complete each task.

Felix was somewhere in the middle of the line, but the examinations went fast—most of the people weren't strong enough to get through each activity. Except for one boy, who also had been wearing a headset.

He climbed the entire length of the rope to the point where he could practically touch the ceiling, he effortlessly jumped over the wall, and lifted each set of weights without breaking a single sweat. After everyone finished staring in awe at the boy's feats, the proctor loudly shouted, "add on twenty pounds. Next."

Eventually, Felix was up. As he stepped up to the rope, he imagined the painful straining that would run through his muscles and tendons. That thought only seemed to make him weaker, for he barely could get his left hand over his right as the thick rope burned beneath his palms.

The forty-five seconds flew by, and he made his way over to the wall. It had to have been at least ten feet tall—that's about the height of the walls enclosing the city's borders. Felix couldn't even manage to nudge his foot in a crevice of the makeshift barrier.

He barely tried with the weights, for his hands were fiery-red from the rope burn and his shoulders were cramped from trying to get up over the wall. He managed to lift about three pounds, but not enough for him to get chained.

Luckily for Felix, he wouldn't have to do any more examinations. Division Two didn't crack down on the aesthetic exams, for you're masked as long as your parents are—and Felix just happened to be born into a particularly not-perfect family.

The streets were more busy than when he left the house. The few stores still running in the town opened, most of them consisting of restaurants and random utility stores. Every Friday, Felix would get his mother a pastry or two from the bakery. She used to love when Felix showed random acts of kindness to her.

The thought of his dear mother made Felix feel heavy inside. He remembered how sick she had been, the sights of the hospital flooded his mind. Watching his mother slowly ail was rather scarring. Felix always wished it was him that had gotten ill, for living with a headset seemed to be slowly driving him insane.

As Felix passed the bakery, his heart seemed to stop beating. He longed for the times when he would be able to spend the few dollars he had to make his mother smile while she was in pain. But those days are gone, yet Felix still couldn't seem to move on.

But then again, moving on was for the strong. Felix wasn't one of those people.


	2. chatper two

Today was a good day. The weather was somewhat pleasant, the streets were quiet, and the canteen had become almost halfway full of water from the rain that fell the day before. Hyunjin made sure to savor the water by only taking a few sips each couple hours, for he was unsure of when the next rainfall would occur.

Once the sun began to rise into the middle of the day, Hyunjin would make his way out of the small trench he had set up camp in for the next few months, and go searching for whatever food or moneys were lying around the town. He almost always went into Division Two, for he were to surely stick out in Division One—everyone in the latter was nicely groomed and dressed. They were seemingly perfect—even despite all the handicaps they wore—while in Division Two, no one was really put together. Everyone and everything was tattered and worn. Just like Hyunjin.

He struggled to climb the broken fence, for the piercing strands of metal worked to pierce his skin as he made his venture to the other side. The streets were almost empty, probably because all the kids were in their daily exams. This was a relief to Hyunjin, that way, no one would have to look at him and wonder where his handicaps were. He wore an old, tattered mask just to make it seem as though he were handicapped, but really, he just wanted to cover the scars on his face.

First, Hyunjin sauntered to the fountain near the main town square. There were usually spare coins lying around there. He didn't have to think twice about it, he knew all the stray coins were just hopeless wishes. Wishes for a different world, wishes for the old nation these people once knew. A nation with no setbacks, no handicaps. No examinations. No protests or riots. But peace, serenity.

Hyunjin opened up his bag as he kneeled down before the fountain. He peered over, and only managed to scour the tile of around sixty coins. This would get him maybe two portions at the food market across the street.

The small space was nearly empty, all that occupied the room was the vendor with different foods stored inside and the cashier desk. No one sat at it. Hyunjin figured to just leave the coins he had on the table, and take what he could get.

The money ended up getting him one and a half portions, which was better than normal. He only had eaten maybe four in total the previous week. Part of him wanted to save the food for throughout the week, since he never knew what would be in store. But staring at the small meal in his hands made his tummy growl out of hunger. His willpower ran weak. As soon as he poured the contents into the bowl, his craving took over, and he seemingly ate the thing in one bite. Even though the food was flavorless and rather dull in texture.

As soon as Hyunjin finished eating, he began to stride back to his little campsite. People began to file out of the examination buildings, and Hyunjin surely didn't want to get caught by any people of authority. He never really knew how he could get caught, for he never did anything illegal or wrong. Not recently, anyway.

But it was in his blood. His existence was illegal. He was a threat.

Almost as big a threat as Spear.B, whose name was being spoken over and over upon the blaring sirens.

"Attention please, this is the Governor speaking, jail break in Precinct 7. Jailbreak in Precinct 7. Serial 0811, Spear.B, wanted for reward. All Precincts under lockdown until further notice."

The automated voice repeated those words, and as time went on, they became more and more menacing. People began flooding the streets, trying to get to their homes as quickly as possible. It was no use, though. The sounds of police cars and shouts from a few streets over could already be heard.

Hyunjin found himself stuck—the crowd of civilians seemed to grow more dense as the seconds passed. He tried to get through the crowd towards his belongings over the fence, but it was a lost cause. People were screaming, shouting, panting, panicking. Mothers clung to their children like glue. The weighted struggled to run to their designated subdivisions. The plugged tried to listen to the sounds of the chaos to indicate where to go, but to no avail. Hyunjin, though—he could only run. He could run better than anyone else. He could hear, see, function—he had to do something.

He weaved himself through the sea of bodies like a needle and thread through fabric. Hyunjin searched high and low for somewhere safe, but really, there was no such thing as safe for him. He was a living breathing target. He couldn't hide even if he wanted.

A police car made its way down the main street of the town, people running away from the vehicle as it neared the crowd. The sirens stopped as soon as the car was parked, and the chatter from the crowd began to fade to a low whisper. The deputy from inside the car eventually exited, which was Hyunjin's first cue to take a good run for it. He didn't look like any of the others. He needed to run.

And so he did. He quickly slid into an office building not far from where he stood in the chaos, soon running to the opposite side of the structure and out the back doors. His feet stung with each stride, but it didn't matter—Hyunjin needed to get away.

He found himself trapped between a dead end, where he assumed the Precinct had ended. Barbed wires lined the space, and a large field followed. The silhouettes of tall buildings and skyscrapers lined the horizon—the only sight of Division One anyone could see.

Hyunjin decided it be best for him to just hide in the alley across from the border. The area was still, for most people were in their homes taking shelter. Hyunjin felt envious of those who had somewhere to go, someone to rely on. He felt his heart sink to the pit of his stomach as he let out a big sigh. He rested his forehead on the brick wall as he closed his eyes. Inhaling deep and exhaling slow, Hyunjin brought his breathing back to a regular rhythm. For a fleeting moment, he felt at peace. No shouting or screaming. No cries. No sirens.

Not even when the blindfold covered his eyes and the strong hand covered his mouth.

"Don't talk," the deep, husky voice breathed.


	3. chapter three

His eyes were full of hunger as he stared at the ground. The pile of black fabric finally stopped wailing about—the perfect opportunity to get more out of the poor thing.

"Get me out of here. Take me back," the small voice begged in between heavy breaths. "What do you want? What the hell do you—"

"Shut it, kid." Woojin threw the serial tag he had been examining on the ground, ripping the dark material off the helpless body lying before them. His face was distraught, dripping with sweat. "We're not gonna hurt you."

The boy coughed a few times before spitting onto the cement. He stood up and tried to escape the zip ties around his wrists, but to no avail. Jisung took the boy by the forearm and guided him to the one small room separated from the rest of the garage, where there was a couch and a window looking out at the open field. This garage was pretty much the last thing standing in Precinct Ten. The edge of Division Two. Basically, a ghost town.

"Zero-three-two-zero," Woojin said under his breath, "seems fake to me." He sat down on the stool adjacent to the small, worn-out sofa, where Jisung threw the boy. He squatted down in front of him, the mask barely hanging onto the boy's face. It was enough to convince Woojin and Jisung that this wasn't any normal civilian.

Jisung's fingers grazed the boy's skin as he pried the mask of his face. 

"What the fuck is going on. Please, just tell me what you fucking want!" the boy yelled with intimidation, but all that escaped his lips were just fearful inquisitions. "I need to go home," he added with a sad tone after a pause.

Jisung and Woojin exchanged glances. "You don't have a home," the older said quietly. 

"Yes I do!" the small boy protested aimlessly. 

Woojin stood up from the stool, slowly walking towards the smaller. He had a pair of wire cutters in his hand, then he went to cut open the zip ties around the boys wrists. Jisung watched with intent, his heart pumping blood and adrenaline through his body at unbearable paces. He watched the boy trembling before him. Woojin crossed his arms before glaring into the latter's eyes, throwing the now broken zip tie onto the ground.

"Where's your chains? Headset?" he asked with no expression whatsoever.

The boy puffed his chest. "I'm masked. Obviously." He nodded towards the mask Jisung had torn from his face. Woojin nor Jisung bought this boy's scheme. 

“Masks aren’t supposed to come off like that,” Jisung retorted as he crossed his arms. They both seemed to see straight through the confused adolescent sitting before them. By the looks of his terrified face and his shaking leg, they wouldn’t have much trouble getting him to accept their goal. Getting him in.

“Listen kid, we aren’t here to hurt you. We’re on your side.” Woojin walked around to behind the desk and sat in the old, wooden chair, which made a piercing creak as he settled down. “We need you to help us.”

The boy immediately objected. “Why? What do you need me for, I’m—“

“Because you’re undivided. You’re like gold.”

The boy’s facial expression stayed confused, his mouth hanging open and his eyebrows furrowed. “But—For what? For me to be your buffer against the Blackcoats? For you to kidnap me or someone else again and—“

“No, just listen to us. We’re gonna get you out of here, and everyone else. But first we gotta get over to Division One.”

Those last few words seemed to make the boy completely shift in demeanor. His shoulders straightened out, his eyes fell to the ground, and he nervously bit his lip. Jisung let out a sigh as he exchanged glances with Woojin.

“What’s your name?” Jisung asked.

The boy looked up at them. He nervously scanned the room, searching for answers. 

“I could tell you my real name,” he answered with a solemn tone. “It’s the only name I’ve ever known.”

Woojin pursed his lips. “You don’t have to tell us,” he said. “We’ll call you Prince. You look like one.”

And with that, Jisung sat down next to the boy, picking up the mask at his feet. The material wasn’t authentic—it felt like leather, and didn’t have any real stitches going through them. Jisung could tell the boy had made it himself, for it was utterly clean compared to other instances where masked people took off their handicaps. Often, it led to the person being hospitalized, for the stitches being ripped from their skin led to infections and incredible scarring. However, this little Prince was seemingly perfect. It was obvious he had no knowledge on the outside world.


End file.
